


absolutely anything in between

by pinkponyclubs



Series: the keeper and the key [3]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne with an E (TV): Season 01, Canon Divergence - Anne with an E, Confused Gilbert Blythe, F/M, Gilbert Blythe - Freeform, Gilbert Blythe Needs a Hug, Gilbert Blythe has a crush, Gilbert Blythe in Love, Gilbert Blythe is Whipped, John Blythe - Freeform, John Blythe and Gilbert Blythe, John Blythe loves Gilbert, Oblivious Gilbert Blythe, POV Gilbert Blythe, Renew Anne with an E, Terminal Illnesses, Worried John Blythe, its john’s turn to reflect, so much, this is kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkponyclubs/pseuds/pinkponyclubs
Summary: John Blythe knows his time is coming. He has long since accepted that fact. What he really has trouble accepting, is how alone his son will be after he’s gone.orJohn worries about Gilbert’s emotional well-being(plus a cute little conversation about Anne)
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe & John Blythe, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: the keeper and the key [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119437
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	absolutely anything in between

**Author's Note:**

> I like the way the show handled Gilbert’s father mostly, but I’m a sucker for as much emotional pain as possible, so I could have done with a little more of Gilbert struggling after his father died. and I 100% would have liked to get to now John Blythe a little bit more. So I wrote this lol. Also, I’m not fitting their trip to Alberta into this very well, I’ve just realized. for now I think I’ll leave that vague just so I can have this little piece without the trip adding to John’s exhaustion, cause I think we all know that the trip probably accelerated John’s decline greatly. but I also believe he considered it well worth it, to be able to travel one last time, especially with Gilbert.

Gilbert was chopping wood again.

John was well aware it had become more than just a chore to his son. The stack of logs he saw on the porch whenever Gilbert wheeled him out in his chair for fresh air had long since passed the amount of wood they’d actually need for any short amount of time, and grew faster than it dwindled. 

John suspected something about it made Gilbert feel....secure. It was a task that needed to be done. There was security in that.

Lord knew the boy hadn’t had an _overabundance_ of that security in his young life.

_The prodigal sons._

_“The prodigal son returning to his place of birth, and bringing along his own. Quite poetic I’ve always thought.”_

“ _Sure, Dad.”_

_“Always so sure, huh Gil?”_

_”Sure, Dad.” But with a smile this time.  
_

John frowned out the window as he watched his son. 

He was sat in Gilbert’s chair that usually stayed by his bed. He was only sat there after much wheedling of Gilbert. 

“I would just like to sit and watch the snow fall, Gilbert.”

”You need to be in bed, Dad.”

”What’s the difference between sitting and laying? They're both infernally boring.”

“Exactly, what is the difference? So you should stay in bed.”

John huffed a weak sigh. “The difference is that I can see out of the window better if I’m sitting _by_ it, genius.”

”If I’m a genius than you should listen to me.” 

“The use of the word genius was sarcastic, Gil.” 

“I know.”

”Please stop stalling with banter and help me into the chair.” 

Gilbert had scrunched his brow, a cagey look in his eye and worry in every crevice of his boyish face. 

_Too boyish, too young for a look of such perturbation._

”Dad—“

_”Gilbert.”_

Gilbert pressed his lips together and looked away.

John softened his voice. 

“It’s just sitting, son. It won’t tax me anymore than laying in bed will. I promise you.”

Finally, Gilbert had quietly conceded, helping his father into his current position, before heading out for chores. 

It was getting more and more like this with each day passing. 

Gilbert had become so fiercely attentive to every and any little thing John did that might suggest an ache, exhaustion, or any manner of things alike that came with illness. 

He was almost totalitarian with the prospect of making sure his father absolutely in no way expended unnecessary energy. 

And unnecessary in Gilbert’s mind translated to absolutely anything that Gilbert could do himself. And absolutely anything that wasn’t laying in bed all day, _every day_ like a beached whale.   
  
John _hated_ it. He hated how stressed Gilbert was about it, how much of his son’s mind was overwhelmed with worries of his father’s illness.

He’d hated it from the very beginning. Hated when he’d become too weak to complete the strenuous chores, and then any chores at all, and that Gilbert had taken over almost silently, his little boy of only about seven, running a farm all on his own with the steady air of responsibility and maturity radiating from his small body.   
  
He hated when he’d become confined to his bed, unable to go anywhere, do anything. His world had become this room, that bed. And occasionally the porch. 

John wasn’t stupid. He knew it had to be this way, in this time in his life. This dwindling time.

He knew what was coming. 

It had long since stopped scaring him, his death. 

He’d known it was coming, and had accepted it years ago. 

What he still struggled with however, struggled with everyday, was how it was going to effect his son.   
  
The thoughts, the worries, loomed over him day in and day out.

Gilbert was fourteen, and a boy. He lived in a small community where everyone helped everyone.

 _Everyone who fit their small minded mold anyway._

With all of that, he knew the state would consider Gilbert well fit to take care of himself. 

No social workers would come knocking for his son after he was gone. 

Which was the crux of his worry.   
  
He knew Gilbert was self sufficient, knew he would be alright, _physically_. The boy had been taking care of the entire farm for most of his life. 

He could get odd end jobs in town and around the community. Folks would be looking to help him, and hiring him to do small chores would be an easy way to ease their minds about what they could do for the new orphan in their community. 

The farm would also provide. The orchard was the same. Gilbert couldn’t realistically harvest the orchard to it’s full advantage. He was just one boy. But the apples he could produce on the trees that he _could_ see to harvest would sell just as well as they always had. 

Gilbert would have money. He would eat. He would have neighbors to make sure he didn’t fall sick or dead. He would have everything that he needed.

But he would be _alone_. 

Alone wasn’t good for Gilbert. Not in the slightest.

He knew because it was the same for himself. 

The thought of Gilbert in this house after he was gone, home from school, fixing the stove, chopping the wood, tending the farm, doing all the same chores.

And then having to come inside at night, into the empty house. Eat _alone_ , sit _alone_ , study _alone_ , sleep _alone_.

Alone. Save for the ghost of John’s absence, _alone_. 

It was his heavy, lurking presence. It was on his mind every minute of every day. 

“Ready to get back in bed yet, Mr. Blythe?”

Mrs. Kincannon swept into the room, grease stains on her plain dress, eyeing him with her eagle gaze.

John continued to stare out at Gilbert’s dark, lean figure against the snow.

She’d been a treasure, helping to put Gilbert’s mind at ease about all the chores and things that needed done _inside_ the house.

Since hiring her, she’d taken the burden of breakfast, lunch, dinner, and cleaning off of Gilbert’s hands, as well as easing the worry of leaving John alone while he was at school. 

He could hear Mrs. Kincannon sigh at being ignored and begin to tidy the room, rearranging the bedside table and fluffing pillows. 

“Mrs. Kincannon.” John continued to stare out the window.

”Yes? Are you ready to move now?”

”You’ll look in on Gilbert after I’m dead, won’t you?” 

She sucked in air sharply, something on the bedside table clattering as she dropped it.

There was a beat of heavy silence.

” _John—_ “

”Please.” He finally turned to look at her, at her stricken face.

”I’m...asking you. I know you have your own family. I’m not asking you to...take him in. Just....just to check on him, every now and then.”

He swallowed. “You...You’re the only person I have to ask.”

She stared at him. He clenched his hands, feeling the familiar weakness in them. 

”He’ll have...no one.”

He gave a sad huff.

”And Gilbert, well...you haven’t known him for too long, but I feel that you must have caught onto at least some of his quirks. Some of who and how he is.” 

Mrs. Kincannon gave a breathless chuckle. 

“Yes, mhm. Gilbert is a fine boy. He’s kind and thoughtful, and mature much beyond his years.” 

John hummed. 

“And yes I’ll...” She let out a shaky breath.

  
“After...Of course I’ll keep an eye on him. Everyone will. He’ll be just _fine_.” 

She didn’t understand. He’d known she wouldn’t. Why would she?

But she would help. And that was all he could ask for. It’s all there could be.   
  
“Let’s get you back into bed for supper now.”

  
Gilbert walked into his room just as John was tucking into a bowl of stew, shaking snow out of his dark curls.

John pushed his worries to the side, as he always did when Gilbert was near. His son was entirely too good at picking up on his father’s grievances. 

”Gotta say, Gil. Our lives truly changed for the better when we acquired the services of dear Mrs. Kincannon. I love you son, but her stew _far_ exceeds yours.”

Gilbert laughs tiredly, cheeks flushed from the cold and the physical labor, as he finished ruffling the ice from his hair and settled himself into the chair John had vacated, dipping a spoon into his own bowl of stew. 

“Yeah, yeah. I have to agree. _Anything_ she makes far exceeds what I could.” 

They share a laugh. John’s heart feels lighter only for this moment. 

“Tell me about your week, hm? You haven’t been talking to me much, you rascal. How has school been?”

Curiously, Gilbert pauses for a second in his eating at the question, before ducking his head slightly.

”Ah, fine.” 

John raised his eyebrows at his son.

”Oh _really_? Sounds like something interesting might have happened.”

”I just said it was _fine_. Nothing interesting.”

”Come on, Gil. Tell me.” 

Gilbert sighed, chewing at his lip as he does when he’s contemplating.

“Well, there’s this new student. A girl.”

John’s eyebrows inched higher. “ _Oh?_ ”

Gilbert tried to glare at his father, but he couldn’t quite keep the eye contact, and he was blushing, his cheeks going slightly pink. _Blushing!_  
  
John’s face broke into a grin.

“Tell me about this _girl_ , then. She must be _very_ interesting to have you so _flustered_ after only knowing her for one day.”   
  
“She is.” Gilbert hunched his shoulders closer to his burning cheeks. “She’s...” He paused, before dropping his shoulders again.

”Well, um, something kind of happened.”

Gilbert picked at his food, scooping up the contents and then letting them fall and plop back into the bowl. 

“What do you mean, son? What happened?”

Gilbert grimaced. “She...She might have bashed me over the head with her slate. And then ran away. I’m pretty sure she hates me.” He deadpanned.

John gaped at his son for half a second, before letting out a bark of shocked laughter. 

“ _What_?”

Gilbert groaned, his blush intensifying. 

“I— well, it’s a _long_ story, but I did something dumb and she, well, she smacked me for it. I deserved it. But it got her in trouble and she hasn’t been back to school since, and I want to apologize to her but she _hasn’t been back_ and Diana Berry told me that she lives at Green Gables but—“

“ _Green Gables_?” John blinked, shocked.

”Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Cuthbert adopted her, and—“

”Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert adopted a _child?”_ John dropped his spoon into his stew bowl, a flummoxed expression on his pale face. 

“Apparently.” 

John tossed the knowledge around in his brain, eyes wide. “Huh.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Gilbert sighed, swallowing a spoonful of his cooling stew dejectedly. “And I was thinking about going down there, to Green Gables, and apologizing to her, but—“

”You will.”

”What? _Dad_ —“

”If you’ve wronged the girl Gilbert, than you need to apologize to her. If whatever you did was enough to warrant her _hitting you with her slate_ then it must have been a heavy offense indeed.”

John’s eyes twinkled with mirth as Gilbert opened his mouth to argue.

”You have to go, Gilbert.”

”Dad, I can’t. I have so much to do around the farm and—“ 

“Nonsense. We both know you’re just using that as an excuse. _And_ the farm will survive without you for a measly hour or so, regardless. You’ll go. Tomorrow, after school. Now, break out the poetry book.”

Gilbert’s shoulders slumped as he watched his father settle in, prepared for their usual routine of reading before bed.   
  
That was that. He had to go to Green Gables.  
  


He’d have to face Anne.

  
_Saints protect him._


End file.
